The Mugs
by everybreatheverymove
Summary: Set sometime in the marriage bubble. Because they have adorable personalised mugs in their kitchen and this needed a cute headcanon. (And we all need some good stuff right now to block out the angst!)


**Because there are personalised mugs in their apartment, and Annie _(_annieSL) was wonderful enough to point it out and request a fic! It was supposed to just be a drabble but I loved it too much to simply post it with the rest. Enjoy! :)**

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"You haven't told anybody, have you?"

Jackson glances up from the newspaper in front of him to look at her, shoves another spoonful of cereal in his mouth, "No." He swallows, places his spoon back into the half-empty bowl but keeps a slight grasp around the metal. "Did you?"

The trauma surgeon shakes her head, licks her lips almost anxiously, "No. But Arizona keeps mentioning it."

He lets go of the spoon then, skin leaving metal, "The wedding?" Jackson raises a brow, squints green eyes carefully.

April tilts her head to the side, takes a breath as she reaches to pick up a mug from beside the sink. "The running away from the wedding." She clarifies, corrects him with a slight frown.

She picks up one of two mugs sat alone by the hand soap. It's a cream coloured pot with a wide base and a fancy handle. It's Anthropologie-bought, it's her choosing. There's a neatly scrawled 'A' pasted on the side, black striped and calling out to her.

The other is similar, almost identical, except the tidy 'A' is a lovely 'J' and it's not hers. It's her husband's. It's still Anthropologie-bought, still her choosing. It's coloured cream and perfect. Perfectly him, perfectly both of them.

Since getting married, and moving into his once bachelor pad, she'd noticed the theme, the setup of his apartment. It was simple. Not too boyish, but not full of elegant ornaments and useless candles either.

She'd added her own touch, because he'd let her and not because she'd asked. His bedroom had been slightly modified to become their bedroom.

The kitchen was coloured, a few specks of red and blue and orange brightening up the corner. The bathroom was already surprisingly perfect.

The living room was her masterpiece though. She'd added cushions, Anthropologie-bought, of course. She'd purchased a throw for over the back of the couch, for when she's cold and he wasn't around to keep her warm, for them to keep warm when they were doing what newlyweds do on their living room floor.

"Coffee?"

She'd somehow gotten lost in her thoughts, and missed him getting up from his stool and joining her around the other side of the counter.

She stands with both hands against the island, fingers gripping the edge of the large white sink while he moves around behind her, goes to pour himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee in the 'J' mug that she'd been admiring.

"Yeah." April smiles, snaps back to reality and spins around to face him, 'A' mug in her hands.

Without looking around, he waves a hand out behind him for her mug, and she reaches it out for him.

"I only have-"

"One sugar and a little milk. I know." He grins to himself, pours the liquid into their separate mugs.

Jackson places the coffee pot back down after a moment, finally turning around to face his glowing wife.

"What?" He raises a brow curiously as he nears her, stops just in front of her body, chest to chest and eyes beaming down at her face.

April shrugs sheepishly, "Nothing." She accepts the mug from his hands, wraps her fingers around the side and slips two fingers past the handle.

He holds it differently, she's come to notice. He doesn't care for the handle, instead just picks it up carefree as though it was plastic and disposable and not pot.

The plastic surgeon stares down at her intently, watches as she takes a long sip of her coffee. "Good?"

"Perfect." She smiles, looks down at the mug held firmly in her hands, "When did you learn how I like my coffee?" She whispers, chewing into her bottom lip as she waits for his answer.

"When I learnt how you like everything else." Jackson replies, reaches a hand past her waist to place his coffee down beside the sink. His hands move to her waist then, backing her into the side of the island in the middle of the kitchen.

April looks up at him through long lashes, darts her tongue out quickly to wet her lips as she leans back, shifts so her chest is out and her shoulders fall back.

She tries to ignore his smirk, taps her fingertips against the mug in her right hand. "And just what else do I like?"

He grins, green eyes alight and pouring his soul into her hazel ones, "That thing I did last night." He licks his lips, squints a little, "You liked that very much."

The redhead giggles, moves to rest her cup down, traces her hands up his chest to grip his shoulders, "You might have to refresh my memory, Mister Avery." April sways her head from side to side, drops her hands to his arms, wraps her palms around his elbows.

"Oh, really, Mrs Avery?" He leans his forehead against hers, lets her nod against him, watches as her pale nose rubs against his tanned one slowly. "Well, then, you might have to be late for work." He tells her, runs his hands up her sides to grip the sides of her face, thumbs tracing her cheeks. "How are you gonna explain that one to the board?"

"I'll just have to find the chairman of the board and tell him in person. I might have to convince him a little bit, but once he finds out what I was doing, I'm sure he'll be fine."

"And what exactly are you going to be doing?" He quips, nears his mouth to hers, breath against her own.

April grins, leans into him closely, "I think 'What will the chairman of the board be doing?' is a better question."


End file.
